


Relent

by haledamage



Series: Stay [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Friends With Benefits, Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 08:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19663294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haledamage/pseuds/haledamage
Summary: Word of a plot against Anora comes to light, and Cait Cousland and Loghain Mac Tir must go behind enemy lines to hunt down the source.





	Relent

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place after Yield, but you don't need to have read it to read this one
> 
> rating is for later chapters

“Good morning, Anora. Another bouquet of flowers arrived for you,” Cait called as she opened the door to the queen’s office. She hoped Anora was actually in there; she couldn’t see over the riot of flowers in her arms.

“They're lovely,” Anora replied unenthusiastically. Cait made her way in the vague direction of her voice. “Who are these from?”

She sat the vase down, the flowers covering the surface of the desk and hiding the mountains of paperwork that were probably on it. She pulled the card out of her jacket pocket and read it as dramatically as possible. “‘ _ To the Radiant Anora Mac Tir, All flowers pale before your delicate beauty, but I hope they brighten your day just the same. Lord Otwin De Calis _ .’” She dropped the card onto Anora’s desk, to get lost among the rest of the chaos. “Should I know who that is? He sent me a bouquet too.”

“I'm not familiar with the name,” Anora said, appearing from behind an especially large pink rose. “What did your card say?”

“He said my beauty was  _ mesmerizing _ . And something about my  _ strength of character _ ,” Cait rolled her eyes and dropped into an empty chair. “I think I'd rather be radiant.”

“At least he has a decent grasp of language.” Anora stood up to carry the flowers to the window to add them to her collection. There were over a dozen bouquets of various sizes and colors, all from hopeful suitors that seemed to think a bunch of roses would be enough to make them the next king of Ferelden.

Cait propped her feet up on the desk and watched her friend walk across the room and back, poised and controlled even after hours in this little room. “I suppose. Anyone who'd call you delicate doesn't know who they're dealing with.”

“Delicate next to you, maybe,” Anora said, eyes flashing with amusement. “I assume you've already sent replies?”

"Of course." Cait intoned in an expressionless voice, "Her Royal Highness and Chancellor Cousland are very flattered by your gift and your words, but completely uninterested. Try chocolates next time.”

“Good.” Anora pushed Cait’s boots off her desk and sat back down. “I received word from Warden-Commander Amell.”

That got the Warden’s attention and she sat up straight in her chair. “How’s Carah doing?”

“There may be a situation with the darkspawn in Amaranthine. She says she doesn’t need help at this time, but she’ll keep us updated.” Anora handed Cait the letter in question and she read over it quickly.

Once she’d handed the letter back, Cait slouched into her chair again. “Better her than me. I’ve got too many memories attached to Amaranthine. I’d rather be here.” Carah Amell was a natural-born leader and deserved every bit of praise and power they could give her. Cait only hoped that whoever she had helping her in Amaranthine knew more about politics than she did. Carah was a sweet girl; the bannorn would eat her alive if they could. “She’ll be a better Commander than I would be anyway. Patience of a saint, that one.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be killing darkspawn than glaring at politicians?”

Cait shrugged. “Nah. If I wanted the easy job, I’d have volunteered. I  _ like  _ it here, believe it or not.”

"Since you  _ are  _ here, I would like a word with you." Anora stared at her, inscrutable as always.

Cait grinned to hide her sudden unease. "Am I in trouble? Because it kind of sounds like I'm in trouble."

Anora laced her fingers together on her desk and said calmly, "When I requested you find a healthier way to spend your evenings than getting in bar fights, I did not mean to imply you should start having sex with my father."

Cait studied the queen, trying to read anything in her expression. She didn't seem angry, but beyond that she couldn't tell what she was thinking. Hoping she was reading this right, Cait kept her grin firmly in place and said cheekily, "You didn't explicitly tell me  _ not  _ to have sex with your father."

"I'll endeavor to be more specific in the future," Anora said dryly.

“Is this a problem, Anora?” Cait asked bluntly. She sat up straight again so she could lean forward over the desk and started gathering together a coherent argument in her mind, in case Anora tried to tell her to stop her relationship with Loghain. Could they even call it a relationship? An affair, maybe? Liaison?

Anora was still studying her, and Cait hoped her poker face was good enough. “That depends on you. What are your intentions with him?”

Cait started laughing. And then she kept laughing, until her sides hurt and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Anora just watched her stoically, patiently waiting for her friend to stop being so dramatic and answer the question. “I’m sorry, I just… I never thought I'd be on the receiving end of this kind of conversation.” Cait wiped the tears from her eyes and added, “We made it clear that we're not looking for anything serious. I'm not out to become your stepmother, if that's what you're worried about.”

Anora paused before quietly saying, “I'm worried about the opposite, actually. My father is a very loyal man. He does not do anything lightly.”

Cait watched her face for any kind of disapproval, but Anora looked as serious and unreadable as ever. “You're concerned that he's after a commitment and I'm just in it for a bit of fun.” She wondered how honest she should be. Anora seemed to just genuinely be interested, and since Carah and Leliana had left the city Cait was severely lacking in female friendships. But it was also Anora’s father that she was having ‘liaisons’ with. 

Oh well. In for a copper, in for a crown. “I thought it might be the other way around, though now that I say it out loud it sounds stupid. Everything Loghain ever does is  _ serious _ . He doesn’t know any other way to do anything.” She dropped her head to a clear space on the desk with a hollow  _ thud _ . “He and I are a  _ really good fit _ . Or we could be, if we decided to be. But I can't even get him to call me by my name when other people are around.”

Anora was quiet for a long time, but Cait stubbornly refused to look up and see the expression (or lack thereof) on her friend’s face. After an indeterminate amount of time, either seconds or hours, the queen simply said, “Perhaps I can help.”

She handed her a stack of papers as soon as she sat up again, and she flipped through them, trying to make sense of it. There were a lot of names she didn’t recognize and things written in very fancy filigree. “You lost me.”

“There are rumors of unrest in Orlais. Some courtiers seem to be upset that Empress Celene failed to acquire Ferelden after her  _ plot  _ with Cailan was interrupted." Anora didn't react to that, though her face went a little stonier. Cait sneered on behalf of both of them. "One of these lords, a Duke Dubost, seems to think he'll gain support if he succeeds where she failed. He seeks to supplant me, either by force or by marriage. And since I do not intend to remarry, not now and maybe not ever, it is only a matter of time before he tries something.” 

Anora shuffled through the papers until she found the one she was looking for, and pulled a very fancy gilded party invitation to the front. “He is holding a fete at his estate in Jader and I would like you to attend. Find what he's planning and stop it.”

Cait could just imagine how well that would go. The Orlesians were sure to be very accommodating to the blighted Hero of Ferelden. “I'm behind you completely, you know that, but if I walk in there, everyone will either run screaming for the hills or fill me full of arrows.”

The look Anora gave her reminded her of the ones her mother used to give her, when she said something very stupid and Mother was too polite to tell her so. “That is why you will not be going as yourself.” Another shuffling of papers to bring a new one to the top, filled with Anora’s elegant handwriting. “You are Lady Adela Roth, a minor noble from near Highever. You were invited because your cousin, Elena, is married to the youngest son of a marquise, making you technically a noble in both Ferelden and Orlais. You said your Orlesian friend taught you some of the Game, yes?”

“Yes. Bardic basics, at the very least. Don't know that I'm ready for  _ this _ , though.” Cait was pretty sure Leliana’s exact words were ‘if you keep punching every lord that insults you, there will be no chevaliers left without broken noses.’ Probably best to keep that to herself. “And what does this have to do with Loghain?”

More papers shuffling. “ _ He _ is your husband, Lord Christoph Roth.” Anora paused, waiting for Cait to refuse, maybe. When she didn’t, she continued, “I did not feel comfortable sending you in alone, and as you said yourself, you work well together.”

Cait had a lot of questions, but she didn’t know where to start and doubted Anora would answer most of them. She liked to be cryptic, a trait Cait found equally frustrating in both Mac Tirs. “Did you ask about my relationship with your father out of genuine concern, or did you just want to make sure we wouldn't be too awkward on your mission?”

“I don't see why it can't be both. You leave in four days. I've already taken the liberty of having some dresses made for you.” Anora sat back in her chair, apparently taking Cait’s lack of dissent as approval. Maybe it was; Anora’s plan was foolproof, and probably even Cait-proof. She couldn’t think of a way to refuse without just seeming childish.

Business concluded, the stern expression on the queen’s face faded into a small, sympathetic smile. “Some time away will do you good. Who knows, maybe spending a week pretending to be a married couple will give you and Father a chance to work a few things out.”

Cait knew that Anora meant well, but when she put it like that, it just sounded like a threat.

\-------

Loghain was having a good day, which, for him, mostly meant a quiet day. He spent the day in his room, at his desk, answering letters. Some of them had been there for weeks, waiting for him to find time to reply, but even if he was no longer a teryn or a general, work kept piling up just the same. No messengers came to his door with news of a new fire he needed to put out and the only sound was the scratch of his quill and the cold wind whistling through the half-open window.

He should have known it was too good to last.

Three terse, loud knocks on his door broke his mid-afternoon solitude. He tried not to growl at whomever was on the other side. "What is it?"

Cait breezed into the room like she belonged there, kicking the door shut behind her and moving through the space with her easy, thoughtless grace. She'd never been in his room before; until this moment, Loghain didn't know she knew where his room was.

She was in one of those Nevarran-style suits she was so fond of, with their high collars and thousands of tiny buttons, her hair in a neat braid and, near as he could tell, she was unarmed except for a stack of papers. Probably, that meant she was here on business.

"Warden," he greeted because he liked the face she made when he did.

"How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that?" Cait asked, making a face like she'd just bitten into a lemon. Without waiting for a reply, likely because she knew she wouldn't get one, she added, "Are you in the middle of anything?"

"Nothing that can't wait. What is it?"

She looked around for a place to sit and, finding no other chairs, sat down on the edge of his bed. She held out the stack of papers she'd brought with her. "Anora has some work for us."

He flipped through the pages, skimming over the words to try to put together the story. "She wants us to pose as a married couple to infiltrate a party in Orlais and stop a plot to overthrow her rule."

"You caught on a lot faster than I did." Loghain couldn't tell if the wide smile on her face was from nerves or excitement. Probably both, knowing her. "We leave in four days. Take a carriage there, snoop around for a while, come home with the evidence we need. Easy as lying."

"I see," he said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, "and Anora sent you to tell me in hopes of softening the blow?"

Cait laughed, a warm, throaty chuckle. "Is that what I do now? Here I thought it was my job to make your life more difficult." Her eyes were as warm as her voice, but much sharper, seeing through his attempts at stoicism. "I know we're asking a lot of you.  _ She's  _ asking a lot of  _ us _ , really. If you don't want to do it, I won't push."

"And what happens if I refuse?" he asked. Spending any time playing nice with Orlesians was pretty high on his list of worst nightmares. Judging by the way neither Cait nor Anora were ordering him to do this, Loghain assumed they were aware of that.

"I don't know," she said plainly, shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe she sends me alone. Maybe she finds me a new Lord Roth. Maybe she replaces us both. It needs doing no matter what." She paused, still watching him. Her stare was like a physical touch, and could make him feel underdressed even in full armor. Finally, quiet and honest, Cait added, "I'd prefer it's you."

"Hmm. And why is that?" Loghain knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it - or the excuse she made instead.

"We work well together." Her lips curled in a sly, private smile. "You know we do. If I have to go to Orlais, I want to do it with someone I know I can trust. And Anora must have chosen us for good reason."

She was probably right. His daughter was not the type to throw her greatest supporters to the wolves. She was also not the type to have only one motive behind anything she did; life was a game of chess for Anora, and they’d just have to hope that they weren’t being cast as pawns.

Cait held his gaze unblinking, not quite a challenge but close. When she looked away, it didn't feel so much like a surrender as it was a mercy. There was something she wasn't saying, but he tried not to make any assumptions. She was not in the habit of keeping secrets. If she wasn't talking it was because she wasn't ready to.

"I'll do it," he said, as if there was ever really any doubt.

Her face lit up with a pure, joyful smile that hit him like a suckerpunch and he regretted his decision immediately. "Good. We leave in four days, as I said before. Anora is providing us with clothing, but the rest is up to us. We'll make our way to Highever first, then take a more discrete carriage from there."

There was nothing he needed to add to that, so he just nodded.

Cait nodded too and slid off the bed. "I'll let you get back to your work, then."

She hovered for just a moment more. She looked like she wanted to say something, or was waiting for him to. But she didn't, and neither did he, and then she left as quickly as she'd arrived.

The room was cold with her gone, and too quiet. Her perfume lingered in the air and on his sheets from the handful of minutes she'd spent on his bed. Sleep tonight was going to be impossible.

He struggled to remind himself to think of her as the Warden. To maintain that careful distance between them. That distance closed a little more with every moment spent with her, and every day it got harder to remember why he thought he needed it.

Loghain had not loved many people in his life, and all of them were dead now except his daughter. But the Warden-- _ Cait _ \--she was Celia’s ferocity and Rowan’s grace and Maric’s charisma all wrapped in wildfire and he knew if he fell for her he wouldn’t survive the impact.

A week in her constant company would probably kill him.

He turned back to his desk, but just stared unseeing at the blank page in front of him. He couldn't concentrate to write anymore, his focus chased away by easy laughter and storm-colored eyes and the scent of summer flowers. With a frustrated growl, he stormed out of the room to find something else to occupy his thoughts.


End file.
